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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598820">Spread Your Wings And Fly</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin'>Prinzenhasserin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Wings, M/M, Oviposition, Wing Kink, Wings as an erogenous zone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:07:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter didn't know staying in the Folly would make him grow wings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Grant/Thomas Nightingale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Smut 4 Smut 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Spread Your Wings And Fly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/gifts">Fairleigh</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey Fairleigh,<br/>I saw your requests and couldn't resist. Hope this is at least a bit how you imagined it to go! (And I'm very sorry about all the weird anatomy :P hope this works for you!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Once before, I had seen Nightingale’s wings. During the fight with the Punch on the roof, Nightingale had dragged wings behind him, as large as life, looking like Nike reborn. Huge, a silvery brown, they were just as impressive as every single one of his spells. Somehow, I had thought the magic of the wings to be fantastical, a clever trick to use against a ghost that could fly. I had not thought they were real, much like I had doubted the existence of faeries and whatever Molly was, and yet, in retrospect, it seemed obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course someone who was known as “The Nightingale” had wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had not been obvious to me at all. Not when it was ‘The Nightingale and his Starling’ and not ‘Nightingale and his two apprentices’, especially since at that time I had thought Leslie to be the more talented and liked among us. That had turned out to be equally false, and equally as shocking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In any case, I did not think the title was special, or only insofar as it was attached to Thomas Nightingale, the Folly’s last wizard. I missed many opportunities that in hindsight I really should not have missed, but, as they say, later you are always wiser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were various people of the demimonde who called Thomas by his last name as if it was a title, and at first, it had been normal enough to be mentioned in one breath with him. I did notice that they were calling me his Starling, and I figured the possessive pronoun was probably alright? I didn’t think to question it. Once, I remember asking Leslie what bird she’d prefer, and when she had laughed and said, she wouldn’t want to be Nightingale’s bird, I had taken it as a joke. Maybe, it was an early indication for what happened later, too, only I had been too distracted to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother Thames had sent an invitation during the spring equinox, and Nightingale sent me to apologise for our short-notice cancellation. “The spring equinox is something we best miss,” he told me. “Mother Thames will understand, even if she does try every year to get me to come. It’s not the place for us mortals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since I knew the Rivers didn’t consider Nightingale mortal, I was wondering why he did—or perhaps, again, he was protecting me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On my way to Wapping, traffic was reasonable for once in my life. Lots of pedestrians were around for Wapping, considering the time of day, but the excellent weather had lured many out for a look. Mother Thames’ abode was busy, as usual. Spring decorations dominated the room, and even the reception desk was hidden behind a flowering Forsythia, hiding one of the Rivers at the door. I was reasonably sure I had met her before but couldn’t place her exactly. Crane, maybe? Her hair was pinned up Roman style into something straight out of a Renaissance walking garden, and she smiled at me in welcome with all her teeth. Behind her, I recognized Lady Ty, ever more elegant and intimidating, talking to one of the younger-looking Rivers with stern tones. Good to know I wasn’t the only one to rate her disdain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In contrast, the River at the reception was much more open. Before I could introduce myself, her smile turned even friendlier. “The Starling!” she enthused, her voice full of surprise. I admit I was startled, I wasn’t used to such outright enthusiasm. “Why, you seem to be flowering this spring as well.” She winked. It didn’t make me any less bewildered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Ty, behind her, looked furious. “He’s not anything yet,” she pressed out between her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The more time he takes to bloom, the more power there will be in joining,” maybe-Crane said with the pretension of wisdom. I shook my head out of embarrassment for nothing to say and presented my reason for coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After doing so, I was led through to Mama Thames’s boudoir, where she was winding flower crowns. Her hands were quick, and I could smell flashes of formae flowing through her fingers. And even though I was staring, trying to figure out what exactly she was doing, she greeted me with the warmest smile. Flashes of memories I couldn’t parse passed me by until I could focus back to the task at hand, and apologised for missing her Spring Equinox celebration. She didn’t seem bothered. “I would not have expected the wizards of the Folly,” she said languidly. “Of course, we do have the Agreement, but I can see how you would be busy during the time of transformation. The future of our country goes first, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I must have looked confused— I had not thought Mother Thames to be much interested in the workings of the police department, and I did not have the temerity to think the upgrade of the HOLMES was of much interest to Mama Thames or the demimonde. I didn’t think she was referring to anything else, because I hadn’t noticed anything else updating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When my back started itching more than usual on my way back, I blamed it on my winter uniform jacket that I had worn for quite a few years and was now slowly molting the lining.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My back continued to itch. As soon as I got busy, I barely noticed it. Spring had come, and allergies abounded, even in the less green parts of London. When Molly brought me a pot of salve, silently, and bid me to use it, I put it on my dresser and forgot about it. Perhaps it would have helped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day it really came to head, I had been eating downstairs in the kitchen, while Molly was hiding in the pantry. She had prepared the Full English and a Bit, which should have alerted me to the gravity of the situation, but my back was kinda sore and uncomfortable, and Lipton’s Breakfast bags didn’t make me any less grumpy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, Nightingale entered the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of relief crashed over me, when I saw him come in, dressed to the Nines as no one else would this early in the morning. My back loosened, the itch at my back vanished so abruptly that I became aware of its absence, and then my second best T-Shirt floated to the ground, shredded into ribbons. Wings, fucking wings I could feel down to my bones, spread behind my back. They had weight, they were substantial, they were massive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an aborted motion I tried to grab on to them, but I was less flexible than I thought and could only grab air. My neck also wouldn’t turn far enough. With my open mouth, I could only stare at the polished abyssian gold plate hanging above the wall plate. Wings, huge wings, that were maybe large enough to carry me, had spread behind my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually used as a mirror to reflect the wardstone, I could see the large, brown wings attached to my back in the distorted reflection of its surface. Suddenly, a lot of things became clear, chief among them the unhelpful hints of the Rivers. "Starling," I said out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had not expected the title to be a harbinger of my own transformation. Who would, honestly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Nightingale, Thomas, had stopped in the doorway. He looked very much not surprised to see me erupt with gigantic wings without forming any magic— he looked more resigned to this fate, almost as if he had expected this to happen. There was a moment where the best world fell silent, as if on the same precipice as my governor and I. It wasn’t the first time I thought Thomas was coming on to me, our first meeting being memorable not only because of the ghost but because I had assumed the well-dressed gentleman of advanced age was looking for a particular companion. I had been open to it when we had first met, and I had not changed my mind whatsoever in the interim. The only interest I was unsure about was his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Peter," he said, and then he seemed to struggle with saying anything else. My heart was pounding. The wings on my back sprawled further, opened up high. The sudden need to impress Thomas was not new, but the feeling of needing to make him look at me, make him look at my wings, that was something I didn’t usually feel as deeply. I needed something from him, something he had not—"Show me yours," I heard myself say with a voice as sharp as a razor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Thomas seemed to give into it, and the most beautiful speckled wings, white on a gray brown, emerged from his back. A shudder of relief went through me, tinged with the kind of heart-felt pleasure of a comforting hug. My skin pebbled—the pleasure ignited and spread through me like lightning. The feathers stood up, and I could see Nightingale’s do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wanted to touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the thought went through my mind, I had moved. Thomas was ready for me, burying his hands into my wings before I could do the same. And, oh my, were they sensitive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was as if something had ignited a sixth sense. Intense longing spread through me, and I needed more, I needed Nightingale to touch more until the missing piece inside me was filled with him. Pleasure spread out from his touch, coursing through me like blood, filling my veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had expected some sort of feeling, I was too aware of the wings for it to be otherwise, but the intensity of the experience was mind-boggling. I had never felt such visceral pleasure without even touching my cock. And yes, my cock was filling out without any extra stimulus at all, as if I had become an uncontrollable teen again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When Nightingale gently stroked over my feathers, I felt it down to my bones. I shuddered, and clenched my hands tighter into his wings. I leaned into his hands, arched into his talented fingers cording through the feather down, powerless to hold back a whine that would probably have embarrassed me if I had been capable of a single coherent thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My cock was straining against the trousers I had been fool enough to put on, and my wings strained against Thomas’s glorious, glorious fingers. I could just imagine the long, elegant digits against the softness of the feathers and groaned. My pants were growing wetter by the minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it was, I dug my fingers deeper into his back, hyper aware of the way the firm muscles shifted gloriously. The wings were too sensitive. I could not think— it was a bad idea to fuck my governour, even worse that I was already halfway from coming without anyone’s bits touching. This was too complicated already without even bringing in our professional relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peter," Nightingale gasped. He was as far gone as I was, caught in his own pleasure. And that was the last straw, I let go. Many more clever people than me had done stupid things in the name of love and had gotten away with it. It was probably a one-night-stand, anyway, and we could deal with it like adults. We would have to. It wasn’t like this could last, could it? Not when it was Nightingale, and he would clam up faster than I could say “Please”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the last of my mind properly arranged, I saw him thrust out his hand. The smell of his magic hit my nose, and something in me rumbled in pleasure even while I thought this was it, now I was done for. But contrary to my expectations, the magic rushed out towards the kitchen door, slammed it shut, and barricaded the front with the loose panels and chairs. Molly was locked in, and I was out of my mind with pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing," I pressed out between pants. "Get out of here. I don’t know if I can hold myself back. Is this a spell?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will not leave you alone to face this," Thomas said. His face was clenched tight—either in pain, or something else I was too distracted to question further. “It’s not a spell. It’s more akin to a ritual, if anything—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a clatter, the abyssian gold plate fell down. I couldn’t hold myself back further, and slammed Nightingale against the wall. “Please,” I pressed out, only knowing to beg. I couldn’t forgive myself if I started hurting him, even if he would let me. Especially if he let me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The spring equinox is starting your transformation,” Nightingale said flatly. “And you’re going to continue to be, until— well, until the eggs have been blessed and fertilised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could not have looked more horrified. Need was coursing through me, egging me on, making me want to mess Thomas up further, but I could still tell when to hold back, even though it took everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightingale sighed. “I should have prepared you, I should’ve realised when they started calling you the Starling that they knew something I didn’t. But— honestly— who would think…” he trailed off, awkwardly. I was still hanging on to his wings, and I imagined I could feel some of his emotions through them. He was anxious, I was pretty certain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” I asked. “What is happening to me?” His hand on my wings felt like a brand still. The warmth was seeping through me— I knew I couldn’t blame him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightingale looked about as awkward as I had ever seen him. “I don’t really know for certain,” he said, “what prompted my own transformation. I was the only wizard left of the folly—as far as I could tell, with the lack of wizards at the folly, the balances of the demimonde were thrown out of alignment. My transformation made me able to hold the folly together by my own power. I had been sure that the shape of the transformation was arbitrary, only chosen because of my name. Admittedly, only afterwards they were calling me the Nightingale. I didn’t think my actions would pull you down into my pit, or I would have never allowed you to become my apprentice. I’m very sorry, Peter.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I said. That was the why. “Am I a bird? A genius loci? A tributary of the folly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a bird,” Nightingale answered reassuringly. With a caress, he patted down the feathers that had become ruffled. A shudder went through me, and for a few seconds all I could concentrate on was the curve of his spine against my fingers, the sinews of his throat, the dip of his lip and how it would taste against mine. If I had turned into a bird, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, with Nightingale at my side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...are the wings going to stay there? That’s going to be awkward with my uniform. It’s not like all the ghost ichor and magic explosion aren’t hard enough on my clothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid so, for the time being,” answered Nightingale. “The only way I found to turn the wings back was to find a willing partner and lay an egg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lay an egg?” I asked. The concept seemed out of this world. How would I lay an egg?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s very pleasurable,” Nightingale said. His face was inscrutable, as if he was explaining some matter of magic that didn’t concern him whatsoever. Then, he paused briefly and added, “A bit unexpected, to be fair, but still very pleasurable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was very close, still, so close I could hear his heart beating. His hands were on my wings. It felt more intimate than any other place except maybe my cock. It made me braver than perhaps wise. “Are you not willing?” I asked. “Can’t we not just— do each other, and be done with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could feel Nightingale swallow. He was definitely as affected by the intimacy as I was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re willing to take pity on an old man like me,” Nightingale said, then, more reluctantly, “We shouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know who I would rather have with me, trying to lay an egg for the first time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knew I had convinced him when Nightingale chuckled in reply. His quiet puffs of laughter huffed against my neck and I could feel my feathers standing up. I wanted him so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is it going to come from, the egg,” I wondered out loud. “I don’t think I have the ability to form an egg. Or at least, I didn’t, yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tried it very often, have you?” Nightingale teased, then sobered up. “Egg is maybe misleading. It’s an egg-shaped representation of your fertility. It will form here,” he said, and then used his hand to grasp my cock. I had been hard for a while, and all this talk about fertilising had not stopped me from wanting more of Nightingale, whatever I could get. “At the base of your cock,” he spelled out, and I was already almost coming in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on,” he told me, and hitched himself up. “I need to loosen up if you want to put anything in me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watched with wide eyes as Nightingale fingered himself with an ease that was most impressive. My first impression of him trying to pick me off for a quick romp in the sheets hadn’t been all that wrong then. “Are you going to help?” he asked, and finally, I snapped out of my fugue. Nightingale was in excellent shape, and so was his arse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it just forms into an egg?” I asked, because this was not making much sense. I wanted to test this under different conditions but perhaps now wasn’t the time for science.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Nightingale said. With an annoyed look, he shooed my hands away from his butt. Then, he breathed in—and in a move that was wholly unexpected to me, he took my not-too-shabby cock entirely into himself. It was more tight than I was used to, and so very warm, and I couldn’t help but thrust. “Oh sorry,” I apologised but Nightingale, Thomas, was already moaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, put your back into it,” he groaned. And here, the wings were really useful. One flap provided plenty of leverage, and it got Nightingale to stare wide-eyed at me, as if I was some sort of angel descended from heaven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt pretty heavenly myself, until I couldn’t hold back, and then I was coming. It felt different from the usual, not only because I was inside someone for once. Something at the base of my cock, right where Nightingale had grabbed me, something was swelling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightingale had to be feeling it as well, as tightly as he was joined to me. “Yes,” he said to my searching look. When I rocked into him, he clenched his feet tighter around my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said, with that surprising tone of someone discovering something very delightful. I rocked into him again, and he couldn’t suppress his moans. He was clenching around me, warmth surrounding him, and then he shuddered and came himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My cock was still growing larger, I couldn’t pull out yet, and so I rocked into him again. He shuddered with pleasure again. “Is this okay? Are you too sensitive?” I asked, slightly worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas groaned louder. Again, I rocked into him. Something was forming at the end of cock, inside of Nightingale—the egg. My egg. A shudder of delight went through me, and then echoed in Nightingale. Then, the pressure burst. I could feel myself erupting, coming, and climaxing some more. I could feel it splashing against the egg that I had laid into my governour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as sudden as it had appeared, the weight at my back was gone again. Suddenly loosing my center of balance, I tipped forward and fell onto Nightingale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of breath and thoroughly spent, I asked, “Are they gone?” For some reason I was worried about the answer. This may have been the best sex of my life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the moment,” Nightingale answered, and a wave of relief crashed over me. I opened my eyes I hadn’t known I had closed, and looked directly at Nightingale’s own, beautiful, beautiful wings. “Oh,” I said. “Can you do that to me, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shivered. "Please," I said involuntarily, I wasn't sure if I could handle another round this soon, but I couldn't help but want to, I wanted, I wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I wanted him in every way I could have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightingale groaned and said, "I don't think,"  — "Maybe just once more..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," I said. I could do it. I could do anything Nightingale wanted me to.</span>
</p>
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